Kyrie Eleison
by HugAZombie
Summary: "Merlin is an outcast. Arthur is far from God. But perhaps together they can stop the tyranny and religious persecution." Loosely based on 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame.' Disney version. Summary based on the song 'God Help The Oucasts."
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. And the songs used, and occasional quote belong to Disney and whoever wrote the script and lyrics._

_**Notes: **__Blah new story. I did post 'The Footman,' but I took it down again because I wanted to redo it xD Instead here is another story based on 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame' – the Disney version. xD I have yet the pleasure of reading the novel :)_

_Not sure how many chapters there will be as of yet, but probably around 10, give or take. By the time the next chapter is posted I'll have a definite answer (: enjoy_

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><p><strong>Prologue: <strong>

"_Judge Claude Frollo  
>Longed to purge the world of<br>Vice and sin."_

Paris – a beauty by day and a dream by night. The peasants of the lower towns slumber in their hard beds, dreaming of better days as the fires they lit crumble into nothing more than smouldering embers. The houses themselves are a shamble of timber and mortar, some lean like elderly gentlemen, groaning in the loose, winter breeze that curls around the foundations, intimate as a lover.

The first snow of the winter falls from the sky like miniature dancers, waltzing to music only they know. The thin sheet of white covers the ground like a gossamer blanket as the thick clouds paint the sky in a near perfect black, the stars no real contest against their absoluteness.

This is Uthers' city. Paris is his to control, the people under his command. The fear of the Palace of Justice weighs heavily upon all minds – no crime is committed here that is not punished. By God, he will carry out the Lords' will and allow no disrespect.

Only the gypsies dare to question his authority, with their sinful dances, their mocking music and their dabbles in darkness and magic that snubs all that that God, and therefore himself, represent. They colour the streets with their detestable disregard for faith and indulge in debauchery, flaunting skin and jeers and encouraging the common man to lust and drink and forget the divine codes none are exempt from.

He sneers at their shows and begging, he punishes their thievery and their hustling. He has, for twenty years, _taking care_ of the gypsies, but they thwart him still, thriving amongst the city walls to inflame the peoples' basest of instincts.

The Court of Miracles. He is so close he can almost taste it and yet he cannot see it. But soon. So very soon.

All he has to do is wait. Fate has a plan already unfolding.

"_He saw corruption  
>ev'rywhere<br>except within."_


	2. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. And the songs used and occasional quote belong to Disney and whoever wrote the script and lyrics._

_**Notes: **__Finally got this posted! I will be concentrating on this. If you wish to see a story schedule, check my profile. I usually try to write two stories at a time. I can't remember which is number two, but I will be posting it soon. I am going to try my damndest this year to write to a schedule and post regularly. Here's to hoping. I hope you enjoy this :)_

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><p><strong>Chapter two: <strong>

"_I was summoned from the wars to capture fortune tellers and palm readers?" – Captain Phoebus _

Captain Arthur Pendragon was a formidable leader. He was broad shouldered and muscled from long days of training tirelessly. His stamina rivalled that of most others, and his strength and courage knew no bounds. Many of the enemy had been cut down by his skilled sword and many a scar gained from protecting a fellow soldier. He was determined and tactical, harsh with punishments and light with praise. He demanded respect with his very presence and earned loyalty through his warfare and leadership. He owed it all to his own mentor really – a rough, foul mouthed brawler who had entered the military to get away from meaningless fights on the streets and actually do something for his country who shot up through the ranks quicker than any believed.

'_Courage aint fearlessness, boy, it's being the only one who knows you're scared fucking shitless.'_

Just one bit of worthy knowledge in a well full. The young captain employed the knowledge every time he and his men were sent out. It helped, no doubt. When those soldiers saw the confidence in their captain, in his easy quiet and lack of anxiety, it settled their own unease, made them less likely to snap under the pressure and fear that battle roused even the most seasoned of fighters.

For now, however, Arthur's settlement was waiting to be sent out. He was in his tent overlooking the papers he was to send to his superiors about what the spies and runners had discovered in their scouts. It was frivolous information really, nothing they could act on without decimating their numbers and ruining what progress they had made.

Arthur sighed, placing the papers to the side and rubbing a hand down his face. He knew the order to attack would come soon, once his and a few others reports were sent back. He glanced to the opening of his tent and thought of his men. He didn't enjoy battle per se, the loss of his comrades always hung heavily on his heart. The blood and gore was murder to wash off afterward also, mingling with mud and sweat to create almost a paste that would dry cracked and painful. The ache of his muscles however was pleasing, just like it found an odd enjoyment after a hard training session when his muscles twitched and a low thrumming ache traces his veins. It proves to himself that he is useful, that he can do something for himself, for his country, for his father and for God.

The stiffness afterwards was a bitch however.

Arthur was reclining back into his seat when the messenger came. He was red-faced from running, a letter clutched in his fist, crumpling the parchment slightly in his grip. He paused in the doorway and, when Arthur nodded, approached the captain. His eyes would flick to him constantly before turning back to the floor – awe glinted within the dull brown but Arthur either didn't notice or ignored it.

"Letter from your father, sir."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. It wasn't necessarily odd for his father to write him, but it wasn't often that he would do so quite as quickly when his last letter had been only a few weeks ago, informing him that his war on the gypsies was furthering and was his going just as well?

"Thank you," he intoned, taking the letter from the lads' hand. "Grab some water and food from the men outside before returning. Rest a little."

The young lad, younger than Arthur had first assumed he noted, smiled blindingly and thanked him before disappearing. Arthur watched his departure before glaring at the folded parchment in his hands. He glanced over his father's elegant, slanted script – the writing of the educated. A sweet commodity.

He grabbed a small dagger from his side and slit the envelope open, ignoring the wax seal, and slid the letter out. He looked up when there were raised voices outside, perhaps an argument, and the stomping of two pairs of feet past his tent. He scratched his cheek and read the letter in the following silence.

"Fuck."

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><p>The streets of Paris were just as he had left them. Women and their families wandered the streets, gathering in circles to talk and compare deals and gossip. Children screamed and cried, jeered and laughed. They ran circles around each other, pulled each other's hair and pushed and danced. The streets were filthy with dirt and litter, the waste thrown from the windows into the gutters wasn't quite to foul in this mild weather. Merchants chanted their wares aloud, taunting each other, battling it out to win the hearts and purses of those shopping. Birds sang leisurely, horse and carriages clattered by on the cobble stones and the soldiers marched the street in pairs or more, their armour clanking threateningly.<p>

And of course, the gypsies interwove with the common folk, because what was Paris without the gypsies? They were the bane of his fathers' life, colourful people who, according to his father, enchanted souls and entertained heathen gods. They danced and begged and stole. Even now, Arthur could see a pretty brunette dancing for coin in the corner, her dress shorter than those of the common women, off the shoulder and perhaps a little provocative. Behind her a man, also a gypsy, played a jaunty tune on a slightly battered lute.

The ebb and flow of ordinary life was so different to the brash frustration of war, to the quiet of waiting and the rush of training. Whilst he had planned and attacked and killed, these people had baked bread, sang to their children and worked long, hard hours for a meagre wage.

He led his horse down the street, avoiding a few children giggling around their mothers' skirts. He didn't particularly want to be here when he could be with his men and doing something toward the war, but his father had called and so, as the dutiful son, Arthur had come.

He marched onwards, locating from memory the site of the Palace of Justice, his father's second home. He remembered when his father had taken him there when his was but a boy. It had terrified him then, which was probably the idea.

"_This is where those who go against God's word and commit crimes come to be punished. This is where you will end up if you go against God, son, because no one is above God's word, son or not."_

There had been the guards with fierce, hardened expressions that were so unlike the knights in the stories his mother told him before she died and there had been the prisoners, dirty and wild, or broken and half-mad. But worse than the sight of the prisoners, were their screams as they were punished. They rattled off the walls, ricocheting into any unaware ear to unsettle the soul and haunt the brain.

Sometimes when Arthur had a particularly bad day or bloodied fight, those screams come back to him in his dreams.

He turned a corner before frowning at a crowd of children and a few mothers looking on with perhaps a little concern in their gaze. In the centre of this crowd is a man and Arthur could only assume he was a gypsy, even if he was a little paler than the norm. From where he stood at the mouth of an alleyway, all Arthur could really make out was a mass of black hair, quite impressive ears and a cheeky grin.

The boy – for surely this could be no man – smiled at the children, and said something to them. The children chanted back their answer, only to repeat it louder at the boy's taunting comment and cupping of his ear (as if those couldn't catch anything they said, Arthur thought a little nastily). The boy then leant forward and said something else before his hands moved in a complicated gesture. He then threw his hands open and Arthur watched, faintly amazed as two pure white doves fluttered into existence, chasing each other playfully before disappearing into the distance. The children clapped and yelled for more as the boy ducked into a clumsy bow.

Apparently finished for now, the mothers tugged their children away and only a few paused to drop a few pennies into the awaiting hat that Arthur could now see at the gypsies feet. He continued to watch as the gypsy thanked each person profusely, even as they scurried off as if to deny they had ever been taken in with the boys' parlour tricks.

Arthur was impressed. Never had he seen a supposed conjurer in these parts, though he had heard of them from other parts of France. Mostly they got dancers and fortune tellers, and a few gypsy merchants. Those apt in 'magic' were few and far between, and were usually wise enough not to journey to Paris were his father ruled with a tight fist in the Kings' name. Yes, impressed – by both the boys' talent (where could he have hidden those doves? Brilliant, really) and his stupidity.

He started forward, and the boy turned at the touch of the dancer Arthur had spotted earlier. He hadn't noticed the girl push by him in the last few minutes. He approached them, the Palace of Justice laying just ahead to the left. The girls' expression was frantic, eyes flashing and glinting and the boy appeared to be trying to calm her down but he was chewing his lip worriedly.

He was drawing closer when two guards came bustling up. He was now close enough to hear and one of the guards – a big man who towered over the gypsies – sneered at them in disgust. The boy stepped ahead of the girl, clutching the dismal hat of paltry coins to his chest defensively.

"Magic, huh? Think you can do magic?"

The boys jaw flexed, Arthur could see, as he hesitated. His better nature couldn't let a woman get hurt needlessly, even if she was a criminal.

"At least thinking I can do magic is a step up from you, who I'd doubt could think at all!" The boy spat, even as the petite girl tugs at his arm. The guard sneered and grabbed the boy, dragging him to him and causing the boy to jerk, nearly losing his grip on the cap of money.

"Think you're so smart. How about we take you to the Judge, huh, and the Palace? How about when you're gone we show your friend what happens to whores and enchanters? You gonna 'magic' us away, little witch? Gonna make us pay with your powers? Satan's bitch, that's what you are."

The second man had already grabbed the young girl and was roughly dragging her away. The surrounding crowd scurried by, even as a few sent pitying glances to the girl as the guard manhandled her. The boy was struggling and yelling, spitting angered curses and desperate insults and Arthur was readying his sword to step in when the boys' eyes (which had been focused on his friend as he was pulled away) seemed to flash from a deep blue to a startling gold and the solider was thrown back, releasing his hold enough to free the boy but not enough to allow him full escape. They both slammed into the cobblestones.

The boy coughed and groaned, winded, and rolled out of the lax grip of the stunned guard before scrambling up and chasing after the girl. Arthur went after him, forgetting his horse for the moment as he focused on the slim boy in front of him. The second guard and the girl were just in front, the alleyway they were headed into covered from the sun by the lining buildings and empty of life. The three ahead disappeared before Arthur could catch up. He cursed and sped up, darting into the alley to skid to a halt in shock.

The guard was floored, slumped against the side of the building, eyes shut in unconsciousness. Arthur started at the clattered of a wooden box falling and caught sight of the two gypsies just ahead. Before they disappeared around the corner, those blue eyes glanced back down the alley and stared, for just a moment, before he hurried off after the girl.

Arthur stared at the mouth of the alley, rubbed his jaw and blew air out of his mouth. He shook his head, toeing the guard and assuming he would come around soon, perhaps with a concussion, before going to relocate his horse and the Palace of Justice.

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><p>Arthur never missed the Palace of Justice. Barring that one time in his childhood, he avoided it. It was an imposing, majestic building with cruel innards that Arthur always tried to push from his mind. He knew criminals needed to be punished, but then he remembered the crack of a whip and the whittling scream that pierced his thoughts and wonders if it truly was just, especially when sometimes the crime is stealing bread to feed a family.<p>

It led him into an area moral philosophy he didn't dare broach.

He pushed those thoughts from his mind, setting his jaw as he marches down the stairs in the direction the guard had pointed him in. Somewhere ahead of him a shriek unsettles the dust and he suppressed a shiver. The torches flicker against the wall here, casting grotesque shadows on the wall. he reached the bottom of the stairs, spotting his father only a few feet ahead, conversing with a guard.

As Arthur neared, he saw the whip in the man's hand and reviewed his statement. Torturer. He closed his eyes for a moments' of composure, wondering if the person who would receive the pain deserved it.

His thoughts were cut short by his fathers' brisk voice greeting him.

"Ah, Arthur. You're here; I hope your journey was pleasant?"

Arthur eyes followed the retreating man for but a moment before he smiled. "Yes, thank you, father. As pleasant as it could be."

"You made good time."

"Better than I had expected," Arthur conceded with a nod. There was a faint sense of homeliness with his father that brought a smile to his face. The man wasn't a warm fellow, but he was still his father, had still seen him through terrible times and took care of him. What more could you ask for in a father, truly? The pair returned up the stairs, foregoing the ground floor and instead ascending to the higher levels. They talked idly of the war and nonsense.

When they came to the balconies overlooking the main square, Arthur turned to his father. "Why am I here, father?"

Uther stared out over his domain in silence for a moment. His eyes were hard and cold as ice as they scoured the landscape, watching the commoners go about their day. "Paris is in trouble, Arthur," he answered finally, gravely. "Great trouble. Perhaps even in her darkest of hours."

Arthur frowned. "Father?"

"The weak are being drawn away from the righteous path and it will take a firm hand to guide them back. Your hand, son, and mine."

Arthur's eyes glanced down at the peasants milling around the streets like coloured ants. "I'm afraid I don't fully understand."

"Gypsies, Arthur. The gypsies, who assume they live outside the law, who terrorize and thieve from the good and deserving. Those wicked demons that tempt men and enchant women with falsehoods." Uther's eyes were harder than diamonds. "They _cannot_ be allowed to continue."

Arthur's eyes flashed for a moment in pure anger. "You pulled me from my men and the war to catch fortune tellers and dancers? Father –."

"This, _this_ is the real war, Arthur. Don't you question me!" Arthur almost flinched back from his fathers' gaze and lowered his eyes in acquiescence. Then the sharp, hissing voice softened. "You haven't seen, my son, the damage they cause, the disruption. I never wanted to part you from your men, but while I catch a few, more spill forward, like cockroaches.

"They must be stopped." There was a certainty in his voice that Arthur found hard to fault. His father was set in his concerns, anxious enough to enlist his in this supposed war – genuine concern. Arthur chewed his lip, glancing down again at the innocent townspeople and wondered if his father's zeal had founding. His time in the war taught to not be too hasty in his judgements but to also exercise caution.

Meeting his fathers' gaze he nodded his head. "Then of course I will aid you, father. Uther Pendragon smiled then and a small part of Arthur wondered exactly what he had just agreed to.

"_Look, Captain-gypsies. The gypsies live outside the normal order. Their heathen ways inflame the peoples lowest instincts and they must be stopped." – Judge Frollo_

_Blah, not too sure on this chapter. Ah well. I'll probably rewrite it when it, and a few other stories, are finished. xD_

_The courage quote is originally this: "Courage is the art of being the only one who knows you're scared to death." By Earl Wilson, apparently. (:_

_I also did some research and it appears that the war that Captain Phoebus was in could be either the first Italian War or the Ottoman-Safavid war. But I didn't know which so I avoid calling the enemies anything other than that. xD_


	3. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. And the songs used and occasional quote belong to Disney and whoever wrote the script and lyrics._

_**Notes: **__Here __is the next chapter, hope you enjoy it. I think I made Merlin a bit OOC at the end, but he'll return to normal in the next part. _

_Enjoy._

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><p><strong>Chapter two:<strong>

"_Where you thinking of going to the festival?... __I am a public official. I must go! But I don't enjoy a moment. Thieves and hustlers and the dregs of humankind, all mixed together in a shallow, drunken stupor." – Judge Frollo._

He remembered the festival days from when he was a child. With his father as Judge, they had a duty to attend, which was probably the only reason he wasn't locked away learning his letters or reading the Holy Scriptures. He had loved the Feast of Fools, loved the colours and chaos and entertainment. Paris became a child's playground, with beauty and wonder everywhere he looked. His father, however, had not approved and expected the same stern-mouthed disapproval from his son as they traipsed the streets, his father avoiding the gypsy entertainers with a sneer and hard eyes.

It never deterred the gypsies Arthur had noted as he had begun to grow and secretly admired them for their bravery.

As he walked the streets now, the same almost giddiness that accompanied him as a boy was swelling – a bubble of excitement for peasantry foolishness and entertainment that would otherwise be seen as beneath him. The decorations were bright and aluminous, sweeping across the square where market stools had been erected over night. The smells of pasties and breads and sweets filled the air with a homely kind of welcome, inviting all to come closer and tempting money from purses. Even the guards seemed lighter and happier, marching in pairs with jovial smiles and jarring, loud laughter.

Music swam in the air, notes as delicate as a birds wing fluttering among the ears of the common folk, charming smiles and compliments. The Feast of Fools was the one day where the gypsies weren't completely ostracized by people, as it was they that offered the needed skills to entertain children and adults alike.

The tavern doors were flung open in the warm ear, and already Arthur could see the telltale signs of a drunken man, staggering and swaying as he stumbled from the doors into the street. A few women cast him a dark look as they past but soon they too were swept up in the infectious excitement. Their children danced around their legs, squealing and laughing and pointing out this stool and that stool.

As he approached the main square, he was bombarded by music and laughter and joy. Men on stilts towered over them, dressed in ridiculously coloured outfits and skittering and dancing in ways that would've made Arthur nervous, if he were that kind of man. He avoided one of the men narrowly, almost knocking into a woman waiting outside lf a coloured tent. Apologising, Arthur stepped away, only to be guided back by a boyish curiosity. Peeking inside, much to the annoyance of the woman he had bumped into, he watched for a moment.

There were two gypsies within, a dark haired beauty with ice blue eyes and another, slightly older blonde with eyes outlined darkly. The tent was smoky with incense and two round tables fitted in the middle, upon which Arthur could make out a crystal ball, a pack of what he believed to be tarot cards and other mystical knickknacks on each that labelled these women supposed fortune tellers.

The blonde was engaged with a redheaded lady of slightly higher status then one would expect at such a place, if her jewels were anything to go by. She held up various cards, discussing them in tones too low for Arthur to understand, but the woman was nodding and gasping, so he assumed the blonde was hitting the right mark. He was about to duck out again when he felt eyes on him. Looking to the dark haired gypsy he was met with a studying gaze, those blue eyes bold and strong – unafraid of his obvious status as Captain of the Guard.

Time froze for a few moments. Everything ceased to exist and Arthur felt his mouth start to dry in a slight twinge of ... _something_. It felt as though pressure was building up around him, closing in on him like a predator and his chest was labouring with the effort to breathe...

Then he was released from the queer moment by a quiet, knowing smile. Arthur blinked, shook his head and left, his mind swirling with questions that would never be answered.

He rubbed at his chest plate, as if too ensure that yes, he could still breathe before continuing on, refusing to glance back at the tent.

He passed a woman knelt beside a worn, coloured blanket. She appeared to be selling trinkets and jewellery, beaded things of questionable make but certain charm. She too appraised him with eyes blue enough to remind him of another he had yet to encounter. Her dark hair was curled and loose around her shoulders, her dress slipping perhaps a little provocatively.

"A necklace, Captain?" she asked, gestured to her selection. "For that special... _someone_?" Her smile was an infuriatingly knowing as the other gypsy's was. He wished he knew what to was they seemed to know, or if it was just a tactic to set him on edge as a perceived enemy.

He turned away without a word, annoyance twanging across his nerves. He passed more stools and blankets; it was obvious to determine who was a merchant and who was a gypsy. The merchants yelled and coaxed and mongered from behind their small wooden structures whereas the gypsies merely encouraged and flattered and enchanted with that strange exotic mystery they all seemed to possess. He glanced over the wares of all with a mild curiosity, refusing to buy although a few bits and piece caught his eyes that he may have liked. He was on duty, after all, he was not here to enjoy himself but to ensure everything went smoothly.

And that the gypsies stayed in line, of course.

A Punch and Judy stand was up ahead, surrounded by children who screamed with laughter, the high voices of the puppets puncturing the sky. Close beside it, a man with scars across half his face that spoke of a close encounter with fire, was selling jars and vials of pastes and liquids to men and woman alike – potions maybe, the kind to induce love or beauty or other nonsense that would entrap the uneducated and the desperate.

The crowd was starting to thin out now in the plaza, and instead surging to the middle of the square where a long stage had been set up. The peasants crowded around it as a sandy haired gypsy male danced and jumped and swirled around the stage, whipping up a storm with his words alone – jeers and yells and whistles came from the growing crowd as the stragglers drew near.

Arthur spotted his father on his seat in a box a small way off but with a good view of the main event. He went over to him, nodding to the guards. "Father."

"Arthur."

The gypsy on stage flung his arms out to the side as if introducing someone and Arthur caught the words "finest girl" and "mystery" and the music that had been bouncy and loud behind the man, slowed into something more sultry and decadent.

A lithe girl appeared, dark skinned with curly hair spilling down her back. Her dress was tapered and red, falling off the shoulder. She danced with a fluidity that would make the woman jealous and men drool. Her hips swayed and hands wandered. She spun on a pole with an innocent sort of sexuality, shapely legs curling and kicking.

Arthur glanced at his father, who had an ugly sneer set on his face, disgust oozing from him like a black cloud. His watched the guards struggle to keep their expressions neutral as they watched the girl dance out a fantasy. He didn't blame them really; the girl did dance well, all sweetness and sin rolled into one as she arched and swayed, showing forbidden chocolate thighs and revealing soft collarbone and all with an almost demure expression on her face.

Soon the music died down, and the beauty slipped off stage into the arms of a man who worked to keep her from getting groped by forceful men and led into a tent.

The sandy haired man was back, full of life and vigour and he pounced back into the stage.

"What a beauty," he said, staring after the long gone woman fondly before turning back to the crowd. "What I could do..." He winks lecherously. "Hard to resist temptation, would even our good Lord be able to withstand it, I wander?" his laugh was boisterous and encouraging, inviting. Arthur winced as his father tensed beside him.

"But onto the next event! You have seen the wonders of the body but now I offer you something beyond even your understanding." He leaned forward towards the crowd. "Do you believe in the unbelievable?"

There was a spattering of 'no's' across the crowd.

"I said," the man called, cupping a hand around his ear. "Do you believe in the unbelievable?"

"No!"

"So magic doesn't exist?"

Another explosion of denials. "Not even a small bit? The tiny bit that makes to you wish and dream and hope? Not even a little bit that hopes for the impossible that is beyond us?"

"No!"

"Never!"

Arthur glanced to his father once more. His jaw was tight and tense, his eyes black with revulsion and rage. Arthur shook his head, were these gypsies insane? Just how had they survived, after such displays as this?

"Prepare to be proven wrong dear friends. For we have a gift for you, a mystery even to us, the embodiment of all you secretly wish. The thing of dreams and hope and wishes. I give to you, for only a small demonstration, a man of secrets and power, of knowledge beyond this world and the next. He knows no tricks, no illusions, he doesn't deceive. Be amazed my friends, be in _awe_ of the one who _is_ the unbelievable.

"I give you _Merlin_, son of the impossible..."

He stepped aside and there was the man Arthur had seen the day before. His eyes were aflame and smile giddy. Throwing out his arms fireworks and explosions of a multitude of colours exploded in the sky, the glittering sparks showering the people, somehow transforming into petals. He swirled his hands in grand gestures and coloured flames dance overhead, shaping dragons and unicorns and gryphons. He swept across the stage, almost dancing to the music that accompanied him.

Flames and smoke and glitter followed him. He flung out his arms and doves fluttered from his fingers, butterflies caress the young that watch in amazement. He twisted his body and ribbons shrouded him then fell, leaving only a pile of red ribbons.

A bright ring of laughter alerted the crowd to the gypsy's – this _Merlin's_ – new position. He twirled and pranced through the crowds, all the while his magic flittering around him with a buzz. Storms and lightening, rains of gems that disappeared at a touch, strangely coloured, shaped fires and flowers and petals trials after him as he dances as enchantingly as the woman before him.

He stopped before Arthur and his father and smiled eyes hard as stone. The two stared at each other, hard hate and dark recognition sizzling between them. "A gift, perhaps, for our good Judge..." he pressed his hands together, his left hand horizontal against his flat right and swept his left forward over it. A flame as black as obsidian rushed towards his father, heat spiking and flaring, forming a galloping black stallion before shifting into a black raven just before it collided with his fathers' face, the bird jerking sharply to the left instead with an indignant squawk.

The raven sped above the crowd in a graceful circle before settling in front of Arthur's father with a steady look. Merlin was smiling grimly, even as his eyes darted from Arthur to the guards and Uther himself, limbs coiled to run. Arthur relaxed his grip on his sword and awaited his fathers' reaction.

"I know you, boy."

Merlin kept the smile on his face. "That you do, Judge. I hope the Lord is as forgiving as they say." Arthur frowned at the cryptic remark, looking to his father for direction. The crowd was silent, confused and tensed with a secret excitement and curiosity. Arthur saw the gypsies close by huddling together, says fixated on Merlin, worry on their faces. A few of them glanced calculatingly around the area; Arthur could see the cogs in their brains working quickly towards a goal he could guess.

"Arrest him," His father ordered sharply, hissing his words with loathing, eyes not leaving the shocking blue of Merlin's. "For witchcraft."

"If you get me, I'll see you there," was the only reply as Merlin gave his final bow, clicked his fingers and disappeared in a shroud of smoke.

"_Then it appears we've crowned the wrong fool. The only fool I see is you." – Esmeralda. _


	4. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. And the songs used, and occasional quote belong to Disney and whoever wrote the script and lyrics._

_**Notes: **__A new chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy. The last chapter got away from me a bit, Merlin and Uther weren't really meant to know each other, but, as I didn't want Uther lusting after him as Frollo lusts after Esmeralda (not sure why... but hey ho) it works out as to why he wants Merlin so much I guess. You'll find out the story between them in a later chapter. I would have read through this but I am tired and can't be bothered. If there are mistakes, let me know. _

_In other news, I do have a twitter and I am going to use it to inform those who are interested on progress of stories/future story ideas/recommendations (as well as those pointless updates I do sometimes on the general crappiness of my life outside of writing) all most likely to be Merthur fics, although a few other fandoms (Sherlock, Naruto, Harry Potter mostly with the occasional Final Fantasy) may make an appearance on the rec list. If any of you would like to follow me, say so in a review or PM and I'll tell you the name to look up and tweet me to tell me who you are aha _

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><p><strong>Chapter three: <strong>

_"I'm Phoebus. It means 'sun god.' And you are?"_

"_Is this an interrogation?"_

"_It's called an introduction." – Phoebus and Esmeralda_

There was a moments of stillness. Of silence. Even Uther was frozen, in horror, in rage, in a mixture of emotions all angry and harsh and ugly. Arthur just stared at the spot Merlin had been standing, eyes cold as eyes and hard as diamonds. He was enthralling then as when he had been dancing lithely amongst the crowds alive with magic and wonder.

Then all hell broke loose.

His father was screaming for the gypsy's head, the soldiers were struggling into their formations as the crowd seemed to catch the fury and the panic zinging through the air and reacted. The Gypsies scattered like startled birds, flying in all and every direction, each was a burst of chaos and trouble. They sprang and darted and jeered and taunted. They slipped and slid, battled and tumbled and tricked. The soldiers were floundering embarrassingly, wading through the tide of panicking commoners, sorting out scuffles and arguments on the way, delays that were only worsened by the gypsies' skilful interference and prodding. Arthur watched this from his higher viewpoint upon his horse with a bitter twist of amusement and respect.

The gypsies knew these streets better then the soldiers, they knew the hidey-holes and the alleyways, they knew how to disappear and reappear moments later in a different part of town and they were running rings around the soldiers and the Parisians. They knew the triggers of men, how to enflame them, how to enrage them, how to make them stupid and blind. But Arthur was no basic knight with little real applicable knowledge, and barely honed battle skills. As his father screamed his condemnations, Arthur watched from the back, taking in the swirls of colour that was the gypsies, the brutish fights of the criminals taking advantage of the chaos and the bumbling of his soldiers. He searched for a sweep of dark hair and startling eyes.

From the display on their first meeting (if one could call it that) Arthur figured Merlin wasn't the type to leave his friends to fight a battle of his own making, and knew he would spot the enigmatic, childish man among the crowd at some point.

What he would do when he found the gypsy however, was another thing altogether.

"Looking for me, lads?" Arthur wrenched his eyes away from a heavily scarred man throwing exploding vials at the feet of his attackers, blinding them in an instant, to stare up at a low roof only a few feet away. Merlin sat rather casually there, a wicked grin on his face that made Arthur groin flare in desire before he squashed it down. Merlin was idly tossing a ball of what appeared to be flame, rolling it over his hands and fingers in a careless manner. "I really expected better from Paris's finest, attacking the innocent when the one you want is right in front of your faces." He tutted and shook his head. Did his eyes glance over in Arthur's direction? Or was that just Arthur's wishful thinking?

A whistle sounded from the left and Merlin jerked, obviously recognising the noise and reaching out a hand to grab whatever had been thrown – a cloak, Arthur surmised. Merlin, apparently oblivious to the fast approaching soldiers, shook out the fabric with the flair of a showman.

"I just suppose the practice of punishing the innocent still hasn't died out." He throws a contemptuous glare in the direction of Uther. "I'm not surprised." He turned his attention back to the advancing guard. "Do try to do your jobs properly," he grinned, before throwing the cloak around himself and vanishing beneath it, leaving only the whisper of fabric falling to the rooftop and settling.

"Seal off the area!" Arthur yelled at the shocked soldiers after gathering himself after the shameless display of tricks and illusions (for surely it could not be real magic..?). "Ignore his tricks, idiots, and seal off the area!" Arthur didn't mention the fact that he suspected where Merlin may have vanished to. The other gypsies had taken Merlin's reappearance as a cue of some sort, and where slowly, almost unnoticeably withdrawing from the square, melting down alleys and rat holes and slip ways, leaving only the soldiers and the commoners – both innocent and criminal – battling it out in the square.

Arthur glanced at his father who was glaring loathing into the roof. He wanted to ask. He wanted to know. What had happened between the two off them to invoke such blatant disrespect and antagonism? His father was cool headed, had to be to pass his judgement as fairly as he had always told Arthur he had. Who was this slight bird that made Uther lose his composure so quickly and easily?

Uther, as if sensing his sons' questioning gaze, turned. "Find him, Arthur," his father commanded in a tone of steel. "Bring him to me." There it was the cool detachedness that Arthur had come to associate with his fathers' 'judge' persona, but this had an underlying chill to it that made Arthur shudder.

"As you request, father," he conceded, although he was unsure as to whether he would or wait to hear Merlin's side first.

Kicking his horse in the flank, Arthur rode south out of the main square and towards the cathedral instead (only just missing the collapse of the stack ale barrels outside the tavern, tumbling across the square and mysteriously avoiding the commoners and crashing into soldier and the influx of squawking birds and mangy cats joining the din). The cathedral was a safe haven for all – a single claim of sanctuary could save you from the guards and grant protection. It was a guaranteed safety, unlike the kind found in holes and abandoned places. The Archdeacon was a good man, a man who truly followed the word of God and forgave all. He sheltered those who required it, he would make the trip to the palace of justice often to provide comfort for those who request him before their executions, and sometimes even to those who didn't. Arthur had fond memories of the man who was a close friend of his fathers' despite the often disagreements they had on all subjects relating to justice and the price of crime.

He slowed his horse as he approached, breathless as always at the beauty of the cathedral. Such a majestic creation in homage to their lord – beautiful and kingly, the pride of Paris. He would always hesitate as a child before entering and now he done the same – although for different reasons. He fought his Lords' war, but still he had killed – despite being in the name of God, it was listed as a sin and it caused hesitation. But then Arthur shook his head and climbed off his mount – trusting it not to wander – and stepped up to the great oak doors to slip inside.

Splendour assaulted his senses. After months on the battlefield with only blood and death and screams, this was a true paradise. The hymns and whispers of the prayers filled the vast chamber with a pleasantness that Arthur had missed and revelled in. Candles flickered throughout, the great stain glass windows casting colours across the walls. The noise from outside was all but blocked out. Only peace waited here.

He moved in silence through the church, sometimes catching a brief phrase of those prayers, a low murmur that he didn't understand before he continued. His keen eyes seek out the gypsy, flicking along the congregation and eyeing the shadows. He turned to the left at the end, and caught sight of him then, bathed in the light streaming in through the stain glass window, hand outstretched as if to touch the statue of the Virgin Mary. His face was at an angle, and Arthur recognises the sharp cheekbones and large ears. The expression on Merlin's face was questioning, curious. There was sadness there as well, Arthur thought as he stepped a little closer.

That, however, caught Merlin's attention and his head snapped around and his expression was dangerous. In the time it took for Arthur to raise his hand in surrender, Merlin had an iron, tall candle stick holder in his hand and was brandishing it threateningly. He appeared uneasy with the makeshift weapon, but determined; Merlin's eyes glanced around the room, conscious that he was preparing for a fight in a holy place, but ultimately undeterred should violence be needed.

"Easy there," Arthur said coaxingly, as if Merlin were a startled colt. He certainly had the gangly, awkward limbs of one.

Merlin paused, frowning. "I'm not a frightened animal, solider boy."

"No, you're a prize idiot, but I figured that wouldn't get you to stop the half-wild brandishing of that candlestick." Arthur glared at said item and Merlin smiled sweetly. "Which you should, you know. You could have someone's eyes out."

Merlin looked pensively down at his weapon and made a noise of agreement. "I really could." He glanced back up with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Got one you're less attached too?"

Arthur barely held back a snort. He had guts, this Merlin. But then he knew that from the very first time he saw him, standing up to a guard twice his size and much meaner. It's what interested him, what made it so he wasn't forcing the man out one of the side doors and delivering him up to his father, as he may have done a few days ago when his father's approval was more important when stupid banter with a gypsy whose eyes had him enraptured.

"I'd rather keep them both and have you put the candlestick down. The Archdeacon won't be too impressed."

Merlin shrugged, but Arthur noticed his grip loosened on the stick. "The deacon knows me."

"I'm not here to hurt you, Merlin." The use of his name startled the gypsy, pretty mouth falling open a little in a slightly gormless, but endearing way. Then he closed it with a snap and licked his lips absently. He didn't put down the candlestick but he was no standing tensely, a coil waiting to spring.

Those eyes skimmed over him, observing, searching, studying. Arthur didn't know what the man was looking for but hoped he would find it. Arthur tried not to shift under the scrutiny that seemed to last hours before Merlin quirked his lips a little.

"You're not like the others." He sounded surprised, pleasantly surprised and perhaps a little relieved. "I hope I don't regret believing you." He set the candlestick aside, adjusting the upset candles with practiced ease.

"Do that often?" Arthur asked and Merlin grinned a little sheepishly.

"I'm a little clumsy," he admitted and Arthur was not wholly surprised. "You know my name, soldier boy. What's yours?"

Arthur smiled at him then. "Arthur, it means bear-king."

Merlin shook his head. "You flatter yourself. A bear has far more intelligence."

Arthur's smile didn't fade and he stepped forward towards the gypsy, who eyed him a little warily but otherwise allowed it. "But much less charm."

"Less arrogance too, probably."

"Have you ever seen a bear?"

There was a silence before Merlin bit out: "Have you?"

Arthur laughed, nodding his head. "Fair play, gypsy." Somehow the word didn't seem like an insult but then, it wasn't meant to be.

Merlin tilted his head slightly, looking up at the solider with gentle mirth in his eyes and seeing a likeness in reflection. He opened his mouth to retaliate when the cathedral doors burst open: Uther was framed by the sun outside, himself cast in shadow, and flanked by half a dozen soldiers. Arthur leapt away from Merlin shock and the gypsy himself had tensed.

"Well done, my son," Uther boomed and Merlin further retreated, a betrayed expression on his face even as Arthur turned to him with pleading eyes. "Now arrest him."

Arthur didn't turn back to his father, but stared at Merlin's expression, one that twisted into ugly anger. "You tricked me," the gypsy hissed and Arthur swore he could hear the crackle of magic behind it. Arthur knew that he couldn't let his father get his hands on this particular gypsy. He cared not if this was just another of the mans' tricks or magics, he couldn't let this man be swept up by his father, imprisoned and most likely killed.

Not his gypsy.

"Claim sanctuary." It was a whisper so quiet Arthur almost thought he had said it only in his head. Merlin's expression faltered but didn't soften.

"Say it!"

"Arthur, I'm waiting." The impatient call of an impatient man. Arthur flinched a little, gritted his teeth and hardened his expression.

"I can't, father, he claimed sanctuary." He had never lied to his father before. "There's nothing I can do." He didn't dare snatch a glance behind him, to see Merlin's expression.

Uther practically snarled, marching forward, finger pointing and swinging in the direction of the door. "_Then drag him outside_–"

"You won't touch him, Uther." Gaius, the aged Archdeacon and well-loved figure of Paris society in all classes, slipped in, coming to stand beside Merlin, a protective hand on the boys' shoulder. Arthur, back to the gypsy, missed the expression of genuine relief and affection, which was probably a good thing because it would only have made his heart ache. "I thought you had learnt years ago to respect the sanctity of the church." His voice was reproving in only the way Gaius could produce.

A dirty trick, playing his father off against his religion but it worked. Visibly Uther backed down, glaring at the clergyman before ducking his head. His eyes were still ablaze however as he answered: "My apologies, old friend."

A quick nod to the soldiers had them filtering out of the church, and a meaningful glance had Arthur trailing after them, sneaking a glance over his shoulder. Merlin had turned then, talking to the Archdeacon but Gaius noted the blonds attention with interest before turning his full attention to the waif in front of him, missing Uthers' detour from the group and behind a pillar.

Merlin thanked his friend profusely before being waved away to 'think on his stupidity.' Merlin smiled fondly at the man who had become a father in recent years. The man didn't know that Merlin stunt was due to his bored probing through the clergy mans' office and coming across some startling papers on just what had happened to his parents.

The man didn't need to know.

His breath escaped him in a surprised whoosh as his arm was twisted up behind his back painfully and his other was pinned by his attackers' arm, the hand of which was wrapped around his throat – tight enough to hurt but not enough truly restricted his breathing.

"You think you've outwitted me, witch," Uther snarled into his ear. "But I can wait; your petty tricks won't work here." Those fingers flexed threateningly and Merlin choked and gagged. "Your prison is beautiful, but it is still a prison. One step outside and you're _mine_." And with that, Uther cast Merlin aside forcefully, practically throwing the boy to the floor with a sneer before sweeping out the church.

"_You think you've outwitted me, but I am a patient man, and gypsies don't do well inside stone walls." - Frollo_

* * *

><p><em>Again not too sure on this part. Oh well. I'll probably rewrite the whole story at some point anyway aha. Below is just a repeat of what was said in the above AN_

_"In other news, I do have a twitter and I am going to use it to inform those who are interested on progress of stories/future story ideas/recommendations (as well as those pointless updates I do sometimes on the general crappiness of my life outside of writing) all most likely to be Merthur fics, although a few other fandoms (Sherlock, Naruto, Harry Potter mostly with the occasional Final Fantasy) may make an appearance on the rec list. If any of you would like to follow me, say so in a review or PM and I'll tell you the name to look up and tweet me to tell me who you are aha " _


	5. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. And the songs used, and occasional quote belong to Disney and whoever wrote the script and lyrics._

_**Notes: **__SORRY! It's been a long wait I know, forgive me. I have no excuse, except I wasn't in the writing mood and I can't force it because it comes out rubbish then. Also, those who read 'Lust In Action' It will be updated soon, just not yet because it is giving me serious grief. *grumbles* Stupid story *grumbles* Also, I severely gloss over the issues of homosexuality that would be around at this time, because I want to and am allowed _

_I have also added two more stories to my writing list – __Man and Mystery__: A Merlin version of 'The Phantom of The Opera (Musical Version, rather than book) and __Choking on Roses: __A full fantasy AU in which Arthur is a mercenary who has been charged to protect sheltered sacrifice Merlin (with a sequel planned but not fully sorted out)_

_Thank you all for your lovely comments, favourites and follows. I hope you enjoy this part and we are one step closer to the end._

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><p><strong>Chapter four: <strong>

_"Don't act rashly, child. You created quite a stir at the festival. It would be unwise to arouse Frollo's anger further." – The Archdeacon_

The dust from Uthers' exit had barely even settled before Merlin was darted across the floor to a side exit and yanking on the hooped handle to open it. He spotted guards milling around outside, two in particular caught his attention.

"Judge Pendragons' orders. Post a guard at every exit." Merlin let the door fall closed heavily and leant his back against it, head against the rough wood and eyes closed. He gingerly stroked his bruising throat and shook his head.

"He can't keep me here, he just–!"

"Think it through before you act, Merlin. You created quite the stir with your little show out there." Merlin opened his eyes, to watch Gaius approach. The Archdeacons' eyes were kind and understanding, even if his mouth was twisted in disapproval. "God has blessed you with a gift that others may not truly understand. And what you did today will only strengthen such beliefs."

Merlin sighed and his hand dropped from his neck to fall at his side. He knew really that his little show was wrong, that displaying it in such a manner would attract the kind of attention he had now, but Uther was looking so... so – Merlin sighed, unclenching his fists.

He had been stupid. He can acknowledge that, doesn't mean he had to like it.

"I know that, but Gaius you didn't _see_him. The way he looked at us, as if we were scum, as if we were nothing. He is supposed to be a man of God and yet he cannot follow the simplest of Gods teachings."

The older man reached over, a hand clasped over Merlin's shoulder to lead him away from the door. "Uther is a good, if misguided man. And underneath the ideals he has twisted, is a man of good faith and better heart. You alone cannot challenge thoughts forged in grief."

Merlin snorts, opening his mouth to retort before Gaius shook his head. "Quiet Merlin," he said gently. "Release your anger and just think for a moment. God," the archdeacon gestured grandly around the church, "is a fine listener."

Merlin watched the man as he turned to address the few that lingered by the pews, knees bent and heads low in prayer, and the few who lit candles for lost loved ones. The Sheppard returned to his flock and Merlin moved forward instead, searching out his favourite place in the cathedral. It is a small alcove, large enough for a beautiful rendition of the Virgin Mary carved in stone and a stunning stain-glass window depicting His birth.

Light streamed it, casting shadows and colour over the statue and Merlin gazed up at Her. Her expression was beautiful and serene. Her open eyes gazed sightlessly across the church floor, rosary beads and a cross hanging from her posed fingers.

Merlin wondered how She must have felt when She realised She was pregnant with a child from God Himself. When the angel came, had She though Herself mad? She must've felt alone and different, baring a child of impossibility and divinity – and yet, Pendragon, a supposed paragon of Christian faith cannot take the wonder of that miracle that bore Christ and see it in those of magic now.

God created us all, didn't he? We are all His children, and yet Pendragon could not see that. He could not see that at the core of His Lords' words was a code of kindness, faith and love. The Bible is the word of man, interpretations of Gods' words that are as infallible as man himself.

Merlin is a strong believer that God was an entity of love and forgiveness, and that he created each and every one with a certain plan in mind for each of them. God had given Merlin this gift for a reason and that reason was not to give Uther Pendragon an evil to destroy.

Merlin aborts the motion to reach out and touch the statue, dropping his hand and just watching the statue. God designed each person, each soul to be different, each with their own path to walk and Merlin's will not end today at the hands of someone who is vengeful and lost, hiding behind the word of God.

Merlin stepped away from the statue, slipping into the shadow of the reaching pillars and darker nooks of the cathedral. He moved quietly across the floor, keeping mostly out of sight and disappeared up a side door. Within was a narrow spiral stone staircase. There were a few streams of light cutting across the stairway from the roughly cut squares in the wall. Fine grains of stone and the odd pebble grind and crunch underfoot as Merlin ascends, fingers brushing the rough wall for steadiness. There were a few unlit torches perched in iron cradles for evening time, but Merlin ignored them, merely keeping a steady pace, tripping once on loose stone.

It wasn't often that Merlin would sneak up here, up into the higher levels and rafters of the cathedral. He moved across the higher levels, before ducking into another alcove and up another set of steps that led him out into the highest parts of the church where only the bell-ringers and Gaius would usually venture.

Pushing open the door the brisk wind assaults him, whipping around his body with chilled warmth. His loose clothes flap around his body, hair lifting and dancing as Merlin run to the side, hands secure on the stone as he leans over the balcony. Below him, he can see the lower peaks and curves of the cathedral, the crouching bodies of the gargoyles and fancy twists of carved stone. There was the call of the birds that find nests on the roof and Merlin ducked as one such bird flew a little low over his head. Beyond that, Merlin watched, with a sense of calm wonder, the barely made-out figures of the townspeople. Every now and then, there would be a telling flash of colour but nothing more than that. Merlin could see the rows and rows of houses, the alleyways and taverns, up over their roofs and beyond into the world outside of Paris.

Of course, he could also spot Uthers' overstated carriage, the huddles of soldiers and guards as they patrolled the cathedral, content to wait Merlin out. Merlin grimaced. Granted he hadn't really thought his little show through, but he hadn't quite expected this – although, really he should've. Especially when recognition flickered in those cold eyes as Uther had stared at him. He should've expected much worse, but of course, Uther wouldn't want him dead. Not yet at least.

First, he had to suffer.

Merlin dragged a hand down his face, before cradling his chin on his right palm. He kept his gaze fixed on a point beyond the trappings of Paris, the small villages beyond that Merlin had travelled through and now longed to return.

His blunt nails tapped out a thoughtless tune on the stone as his thoughts slid from father to son. Arthur Pendragon. He was unlike what Merlin suspected. He vaguely remembers a severe blonde in his youth when he was entrusted to Gaius. He appeared sober and bored, when Merlin would spy on both the Judge and his son when they turned up for worship.

And now he was a strong young man, fresh from the wars and yet unlike those Merlin had encountered before. Sometimes, men from the wars came back broken beyond repair, plagued by nightmares and horrors and other times they would be cold and detached.

Arthur was neither. And neither did he seem to follow his father quite as perfectly as Merlin would've thought he would. Instead, earlier, he had protected Merlin in place of handing him over as any other good son would have done. He had _lied_ to his father, under the gaze of God, to keep him safe.

Merlin ran his tongue over his teeth in thought. It was pleasantly unexpected, and a smile tickled the corner of his lips. Arthur was humorous, with kind eyes and apparently a good sense of right and wrong.

And okay, yes, he was a fine looking man too. There was a vague sense of guilt in his gut at the thought, but if he lived his life by the philosophy that God creates everyone with purpose in mind, he couldn't just accept his magic and not his attractions, despite what certain writers in the bible said (Gaius had made sure, during Merlin's time there when he was young, that Merlin at least knew how to read the bible).

Still, he didn't often dwell on his slightly skewed attractions.

Merlin stood up a little straighter, content to watch the city below him in silence.

* * *

><p>"Merlin."<p>

The dark haired gypsy turned at the sound of his name. Unsurprisingly, there was Gaius, half of his face in shadow from where he stood at the doorway.

"You are more than welcome to stay," the older man offered but Merlin shook his head.

"It's probably best if I don't. Uther won't act against you, but he may try to make things a bit more difficult." Merlin shrugged. "The doors are all guarded but I'm sure I can find a way out just fine." Merlin didn't need the light of the moon or of torches to know that Gaius' eyebrow had crept up towards his hairline.

"Be careful Merlin. You are like a son to me, your parents were dear friends. So, watch yourself or Uther will see you on the pyre."

Merlin flashed his trademark grin, nodding his head. "I know, and I will be. I'll hardly give the bast– er, the _Judge_ the satisfaction." With a nod and a final fond smile, Gaius turned and left, content in plausible deniability.

Merlin watched the empty space for a moment, before he turned his gaze back down into the vast city sprawling below him. Dusk was settling in comfortably, and Merlin caught no sign of the soldiers or Uthers' famed carriage moving and he really needed to get back before the others started to worry.

Well, maybe not Nimueh or Morgause... and the jury was out on Morgana, but Freya and Will definitely would.

He ran his tongue over his teeth in thought before sighing. He glanced around him, shivering the cooling breeze, watching a single bird wheeling over head towards a parapet on the other side of the cathedral. He shook his head and barely hesitated as he hauled himself up to balance on the parapet. A thrill of adrenaline, magic and fear zinged through his veins like a flame. His eyes flicked down just once before he laughed a little nervously.

He trusted his magic, he did, but this was still a fair height and he hadn't really tested his abilities in this area of magic. Weather control required a great expense of magic then even he had, but he hoped the already chilling wind would make his idea a lot easier.

He had done that experimentation before, but on a lot smaller scale.

He exhaled, closed his eyes and gathered his magic and the wind around him like a safety blanket and stepped off the stone ledge.

* * *

><p>Arthur was patrolling the cathedral with a few other men. His father had been far from impressed by his display within the cathedral, but he wasn't expecting praise from the man anyway. He gave up on that idea years ago before joining the wars. Uther was a hard man to deal with and even more difficult to tease approval from him.<p>

The men behind him were talking amongst themselves, thoughts on girls and prostitutes, and criminals. Tavern gossip really, and Arthur tired of it. He glared up at the majestic building, wandering what Merlin was doing inside – attending the evening service? The attendees were a little perturbed by the soldiers hanging around on entrances, and Gaius' look was harsh, but Arthur could not move the men away without his fathers' orders.

Arthur rounded a corner a little ahead of the men clattering behind him. Darkness was quickly falling now, and it was getting more and more difficult to distinguish the rough cut lines of the houses. Torches lined the outside of the cathedral, illuminating the carvings and statues. The men were still a while behind him when Arthur heard a scrape and tumble of small shards of stone.

His body jerked, head tilted and eyes sharp in the dark. He glanced behind himself but the guards were too involved in themselves rather than their duty and Arthur proceeded alone, peering up at the cathedral with a frown. There was a huff of breath and a scrabbling noise as Arthur approached and he looked up sharply to find Merlin tucked in an alcove behind a statue of the Virgin Mary, eyes glittering in Arthurs' torchlight.

Merlin blinked as Arthur stared, before he raised his hand and wriggled in fingers in greeting. Arthur glared back at the men still meandering behind him then back to Merlin who looked as though he was holding his breath.

Arthur gritted his teeth before picking up a rock from the ground, watching the men carefully as he did it before throwing it around the corner.

"Men, quick. I saw something around the corner!" Arthur whirled around, sword drawn.

"We have this place surrounded how did he get out?"

"He is a gypsy, idiot, one who uses magic!" Arthur yelled at him, careful to keep Merlin in the shadows. "He is getting away and I do not want to be on my fathers' shit list when he discovers the gypsy gone. Now, _move_!" Arthur made to make a move with them as the soldiers darted off in the direction of the thrown rock, the armours clanking and screeching as they rushed into the shadows.

Arthur waited a few moments, before turning to Merlin. He sliding his sword back into its sheath before offering that hand to Merlin.

"Best make this quick, _Mer_lin," Arthur said in hushed tones, still glancing around him, as Merlin grabbed that hand and slipped around the statue and jumped to the floor. "Those idiots have gone, but more may come around."

Merlin smiled up at him, after straightening himself out. "Thank you," Merlin breathed genuinely, just as quiet as Arthur. Somewhere beyond them, a cat yowled. Merlin jumped a little before laughing with a shake of his head. "Really, thank you, I –"

Arthur waved him off. "It was nothing." He coughed a little in the following silence, dragging his eyes away from Merlin's scrutinising gaze.

"Before I go, Arthur, a gift."

Arthur watched him a little wary. "I was always warned against gives from gypsies."

Merlin grinned. "I think you'll find that was fairies." Merlin ducked his head as he tugged a leather thong from around his neck, revealing a necklace with a curious woven band pendant hanging from it. Merlin took Arthurs' free hand once again, dropping the pendant into the blonds' palm before curling his fingers around it and keeping hold of the fist. "If you ever get into trouble, use this to find safety."

Before Arthur could question anything, or even thank the gypsy, Merlin had slipped into the night. Arthur glanced down at his fist before pulling the leather thong over his head and tucking the pendant beneath his undershirt. The weight of it was oddly comforting.

"_Just remember: when you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hand." - Esmeralda_


	6. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. And the songs used and occasional quote belong to Disney and whoever wrote the script and lyrics._

_**Notes: **__Oh my god, I am so sorry about how late this is! It is totally not my fault... well maybe a little bit, BUT uni is also spanking me pretty damn hard. Granted I only have two lectures (on ONE day) but I have three assignments all due before Christmas and a presentation due for November, and I have four days of placement which, whilst working there doing assessments and key-working (I'm a student Social Worker by the way), I have to do a portfolio for that as well. On top of that I am waking up at quarter to six and not getting home until about six. My life honestly. But I will try my damnedest to put aside at least an hour or so each week to write and I hope to update each story at least once within the next month, but don't hold me too it. _

_Enjoy an extremely late chapter. _

_PS. Yes, Uther is over villianised in comparison to how he really was, in my opinion anyway._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter five: <strong>

"_But how and...never mind. Get out you idiot. I'll find her, I'll find her if I have to burn down all of Paris!" – Judge Frollo_

Uther was in his office when the word came. He was looking over some papers by the dying embers of last night's fire in his office when the guard entered at his cool call. The man was twitchy in a way that could only spell bad news, and Uther had leant back in his chair, elbows on the arm rests of his chair and fingers in obscuring his face, the tips of the fingers on one had resting against its opposite.

The guard before him tried to stand stoically under his scrutiny, but there was a faint tremor to his hand that betrayed him. Uther curled his lip in disgust, his eyes never moving from their fixed stare.

The silence spread on.

"It would be unwise to waste my time further, boy."

The guard visibly jerked and swallowed, before nodding sharply.

"I can only assume the news you bare is... unpleasant." Uther raised an eyebrow. "Your reluctance is both telling and irritating."

The guard appeared to collect himself, bracing himself almost, in preparation of a blow. "It's the gypsy, sir," the guard said, pausing almost infinitesimally before continuing. "He's escaped."

The room chilled a few degrees and Uthers' eyes narrowed dangerously. "_What?"_

The guard flinched. "The gypsy escaped the church somehow; we still have no clue how."

"Idiots!" Uthers' fist slammed against his desk, upsetting the inkwell and scattering paper. "Imbeciles!" He stands abruptly, fury radiating from every movement. "What do I pay you for? The witch is the whore of the devil and you let him escape? You let him escape justice, you let him escape _me_?

"You have no idea what you have done! What you have unleashed upon this city!" Uther roars, eyes ablaze. He was venom and anger and hatred, shifting and pacing with agitated danger. "Get out! Get out and find him! I don't care if you have to burn the whole of Paris but _you will find him_! Or the pyre will feast upon you instead."

The guard blinked at him in shock.

"_GO!_"

The guard did not need to be told again.

* * *

><p>When Arthur showed his face, Uther had calmed. Still as an ocean on the brink of the storm, Uther settled behind his desk once more. The ink had been moped up by a serving girl and the papers beyond saving disposed off with annoyance.<p>

But Uther was calm now. Fury and disgust had settled under his skin like a layer of acid but it soothed him with the burn. His loss of composure earlier had been a disgrace to him and to God. But now, he was focused in the aftermath, clear-headed and self-possessed.

Arthur had a lot to answer to.

When his son entered, Uther observed him quietly. He was so much like his mother, with light colourings and a kind heart, but this world has no place for the kindly. Uther had learnt that when Ygraine was taken from him. Kindness was a weakness so few was allowed, and God did not need a weak soldier.

"Arthur."

The boy ducked his head respectfully when he entered and now he returns Uthers' steady gaze.

"Father."

Uther took in his sons' proud demeanour, defiant in subtle ways and yet also deferential in the obvious. Those clear blue eyes however, had changed. There was something within them that Uther did not like; there was a clarity that was unfamiliar and different.

Uther did not like it.

"You have failed me."

Arthurs' eyes shot up to his fathers' face in surprise and Uther took a little pleasure in the obvious distress of his son. So the boy he knew and shaped was still there, somewhere beneath this new found rebellion he could see shifting behind his eyes.

"You allowed the gypsy to escape," he continued, eyes chilled as ice. "You allowed the gypsy sully the cathedral, the house of God with his heathen filth and you _defended_ him!"

"Father –"

"No! No, Arthur. You have failed me. You are weak and pathetic. You disgust me with your weakness. I thought the wars would've shaped you into a son I would be proud to call my own, but no. You come to me snivelling and useless.

"Are you proud son? Are you proud of what you have become?"

Uther narrowed his eyes, eyes sharp and unavoidable. "Just what would your mother think if she could see you now?"

Arthur closed his eyes against the accusations, his words failing him, his defence, which had been on the tip of his tongue, melting away under the heat of his fathers' disappointment.

"You will find me the gypsy boy, Arthur. You will deliver him to the pyre yourself and redeem yourself not only in my eyes, but the eyes of God."

Uther glanced over his son once more, before disregarding him with a flick of his eyes.

"You are dismissed."

* * *

><p>The house sheltered the poor. The door was easily thrown off its hinges by the guards, the owners dragged out by hair and clothes. Tables trashed. Shelves felled. Food spoiled. The knights swept through the home like a hurricane, casting chaos. Pottery smashed and glass shattered.<p>

Beneath a ratty rug, a group of huddled gypsies were found and chained.

Uther was ruthless.

* * *

><p>The caravan was brightly coloured but the door sturdy. Trapped inside their meagre home, the gypsies cried out.<p>

Water crashed in from all sides as the caravan was shoved over the embankment. Cold water bit and clawed. The few belongings owned drifted away on the current.

Shivering, frozen children innocent of crimes were chained like dogs. Men and women were whipped and beaten at their refusal to answer Uthers' incessant questions.

Arthur grew restless.

* * *

><p>Clothes torn. Humiliation flamed in their silent faces. Curses tripped off tongue and fingers flexed with intent. Stubbornness and silence met cruelty and determination. Belongings were shattered. Children were wrenched from mothers, wives from husbands. Families were torn and separated. The screams of terrified children and despairing mothers and frantic fathers haunted him. The set look of unwavering loyalty was worse.<p>

Arthur knew fury.

* * *

><p>Images, constant, streaming images of the same brutality. People bruised, sliced and bleeding. Dragged from beds, from chairs, from homes. Thrown to the ground like dogs. Silver and gold coins they didn't even spare a look thrown at their feet, as if their loyalty would be so cheaply bought.<p>

As if they would sell out a fellow spirit, a comrade, a friend.

Uther grew crueller in his frustrations. Children were ripped from mothers, beggars dunked into the chill of the river Seine, men trussed up in chains to be jeered at. And all the time Arthur watched, with a growing anger, a growing sense of injustice and disillusionment with the man he once looked to for direction and guidance.

The gypsies never bowed their heads. Never uttered a word. They took their punishments as given and kept their lips sealed. Quiet as a tomb they watched their caravans pushed into the waters, their precious few possessions confiscated, their very existence mocked and demeaned, their hands bound and shoved roughly towards the Palace of Justice for the crime of quiet.

They kept their steadfast silence.

* * *

><p>The final straw comes on a darkened night, in front of a ragged and worn mill with the outlying villagers as witness. The night is cruel in its chill and still in its judgement.<p>

Arthur knew truth.

* * *

><p>Arthur sat atop his steed with unease. Before him was an old mill, a tired thing barely standing on worn foundations of dry and cracked wood. It was rotting probably, quietly and slowly, but for now he stood and housed the mIllers' family. Husband, wife and two small children, the oldest barely even seven summers old.<p>

His father had marched within the house, and sneered down at the kneeling family.

"We found this gypsy talisman on your property, what do you have to say?" Uther demanded, noticing in his periphery, how his son tensed and the aborted motion his hand made to his throat and Uther narrowed his eyes.

He had noticed his son had been wearing a leather band but surely not...

"Our home is always open to the weary traveller, please, have mercy."

Arthur watched as his father regarded the family coldly. The family pressed closely together, frightened eyes on the man who wore his father's face.

Arthur remembered the summers of his youth, before his mother was recalled to Gods' side. His father smiled then, he ruffled Arthurs' hair and read the bible to him of an evening before pressing a soft kiss to Arthurs' forehead.

This man was not his father.

"I am placing you and your family under house arrest until I get to the bottom of this," Uther announced suddenly, yes glittering with something Arthur didn't want to understand. "If you are indeed innocent, you have nothing to fear."

His father turned on his heel and marched out, ignoring the protestations of innocence from the sentenced family. Arthur watched as his father blocked the door with a thick, heavy plank of wood across the door and took a lit torch from a nearby soldier.

Arthur watched as his father handed it to him with a single command.

"Burn it."

"What?"

Arthur's heart was breaking as his eyes flicked between the flame and his father.

"Just as I said, Arthur. Burn it. Until it smoulders. These people are traitors, they need to be made an example of."

Arthur shook his head slowly, mind numb and blood icy. "They are innocents, father. You cannot be serious!"

Uther tilted his head in unaffected consideration. "I have never been more serious in my life, Arthur. _Burn. It._"

"I was not trained to kill the innocent, _father_." His eyes blazed like the torch before him as he stared at the man before him, that great figure of greatness he was admired and now could barely even look at.

Uther seemed to draw himself up, majestic as a king and cold as marble. His eyes were calculating and cold. There was none of the warmth Arthur remembered from his childhood, none of the gentleness that softened the hard lines of his jaw and forehead.

"But you were trained to follow orders, Arthur." Those eyes flicked to the mill and back to his son. And Arthur knew then that this was a test. A cruel, calculated test. His loyalty was being questioned and it felt like his heart, hardened to stone dropped into his stomach.

He was being made to make a choice.

Arthurs' heart was beyond broken now.

He closed his eyes and swallowed, stepping backward toward the mill. Another step. Another step. His arm raised and hesitated.

He opened his eyes.

And dropped the flame into the water barrel.

He made his choice.

* * *

><p>Uther didn't rage. He didn't scream and yell at his son. He hissed, freezing and low, at him.<p>

"_Insolent coward."_

Uther snatched another torch from another soldier, and all the while staring straight at his son, lifted the torch so the great blades of the Mill caught and fed the fire to the thatch roof. It took mere seconds for the entire structure to succumb to the flames, the dry wood and oxygen in the wind only fuelling its fervour to consume.

Arthur watched in frozen shock until the first scream shot through the air. A child's scream. Then more, they reached into the billowing smoke and beyond, a cacophony of despair and fear. They begged for help, for mercy, for their children. Arthur threw a contemptuous look at his father, and before the nearby solders could stop him, launched himself straight through the window.

Smoke clogged his lungs immediately, latching onto him and slowing him. Flames were everywhere, an inferno of heat and yellow and pain. Already he could feel his armour was trapping him, burning him. His blood was boiling in his veins and he ached. He marched forward though, yelling at the miller, who was struggling to help his fallen wife – his movements growing less and less.

Arthur swept up the children, lax and lifeless in his arms, and he clambered out of the window once more, thrusting the children into the arms of the first villagers he saw before diving straight back in, not seeing how the soldiers advancing towards him were thrown backwards or Uthers almost manic yell of 'He's here! Find him! I'll deal with my son."

Arthur was tired and wavering when he helped the Miller out of the window, his wife already safe in the arms of another villager. His lungs were gasping and excruciating. His head was light and his vision was slipping in and out of darkness.

It took nothing for the remaining soldiers to grab him now, to drag him to his fathers' feet and deposit him there. Arthur was on his knees, barely able to keep upright, eyes unfocused and head bowed.

Uther shook his head at what his son had become. A puppet for gypsy scum.

It made him sick. But perhaps, this could just work for him.

"I never thought you of all people would disobey me Arthur. You know the price of insubordination."

Arthur glared up at his father through blond hair, took in the closed, and yet strangely satisfied look in the man's eyes. His fathers' eyes.

That is not how a father should look as he sentences his son to death, Arthur thought grimly, before a series of racking coughs tore through his chest.

"I... consider it... an honour," he rasped, jaw set in a way that was horribly reminiscent of his father. Arthur gritted his teeth.

"Such a shame, my son, you've thrown away such a promising career."

Arthur said nothing, just kept his eyes on his father as he man lifted a sword with the experience of an ex-military man. Uther tested the weight and feel of the sword, holding his sons' gaze all the while, before lifting it above his head.

Arthur waited until his father had begun the swing and could not draw back from it before he acted. Arthur, quick as a attacking snake, throws out a leg, hitting his fathers' horse who reared back, knocking the man off his already slightly unbalanced feet.

The guards, surprised where easy to shake off then, shoving them away Arthur snagged one of their swords and swung himself up onto his fathers' horse, jabbing her flank to get her moving.

She ran just as he remembered, sleek and fast, galloping away to his fathers' command to shoot him down. Arrows whizzed and flew past him, clattering to the floor or falling past down into the river as Arthur sped along it. Then pain exploded in his shoulder and the horse reared back once more, throwing Arthur from his seat.

He was falling, a shower of arrows following him as he crashed into the river at a tremendous sped and the smoke inhalation, exhaustion and shock of pain from the wound and impact took its toll and the last thing Arthur remembers is the dark of the dirty water closing around his head and a flash of stunning gold.

"_With all due respect, I was not trained to murder the innocent." – Phoebus_

* * *

><p><em>Blergh, not too sure on this, if I am honest. But then when am I ever sure of something I post lol. I hope you enjoy it. <em>


	7. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. And the songs used, and occasional quote belong to Disney and whoever wrote the script and lyrics._

_**Notes: **__I am a bad author. I am sorry these take so long to get out. It's just uni and placement is kicking my arse. I will try to get at least one chapter of my two main stories out a month but I cannot promise anything. The TV series may have finished but I will continue writing. I just hope you guys will continue to read aha. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter six: <strong>

"_You've done so much for me, friend, but I must ask your help one more time." – Esmeralda_

He won't remember much when he looks back over those frozen moments in the lake – just a rushing past his ears, swirling back and a pleasant weightlessness that soon overcame the usual panic. His armour, he would reflect later, drug him down quicker than he would have normally, made his arms and legs dead weights on his body. He will vaguely recall a flash of molten gold and possibly a tight grip but the lack of oxygen clouds his memories into black before the touch, if it was truly there, could truly register.

He slept.

* * *

><p>"...you know me." The voice was familiar, comforting and warming him from the chill.<p>

"I know you are reckless," a reproving voice cut through, and Arthur could recognise a tone from his father back when his apparent disappointment was more from fear of Arthur doing something dangerous than him turning his back on madness.

Arthur shut the thought down. He was not yet ready to face the truth of his fathers' insane obsession with the very same gypsy that captivated him with startling eyes. Instead he focused on the hard pallet beneath him, the thin cover that warded off some of the chill and the lumpy pillow propping up his head. He didn't dare move, unsure of where he was injured.

All he remembered was a sharp spike of pain before falling into the black waters rushing beneath the bridge.

"I'll be careful. More careful." There was a pause. "I promise." There was a rustle of fabric and Arthur sensed Merlin draw near, felt his presence hovering over him and could also feel the grin on his face. "I know you're awake Bear King. Can't kid a kidder."

Arthur slid his eyes open and found Merlin sitting beside him, smile fixed on his face and eyes soft. Over the gypsy's shoulder, the old archdeacon stood.

"Gaius," Arthur greeted, wincing as he tried to move, inciting a quiet noise of protest from Merlin and a gentle touch to his uninjured shoulder.

"Arthur," Gaius replied, eyebrow raised to his hairline in a familiar expression. It made Arthur smile. "I would have preferred a meeting with less blood." His voice was as reproving as it had been when he addressed Merlin earlier.

"Yes, sorry about that. Family troubles." Arthur tried for casual but he knew he missed the mark when Merlin's eyes dropped and his mouth quirked downwards. He ignored that for now, keeping his eyes on the archdeacon.

"You have sanctuary here for as long as you need," Gaius continued, apparently unaware of the fact that Merlin's hand had lingered on Arthurs' chest as if it belonged here. Arthur wasn't inclined to bring attention to it. "You were shot by an arrow."

"It almost got your heart," Merlin interrupted, eyes on Arthurs' bloodied shirt they had redressed him in to keep him warm. Arthur gazed at the gypsy by his side, this brave, insane man that danced with the power of the universe at his fingertips and drew his father into madness and there was warmth in his chest, comfort and love and surprise that all amalgamated into a realisation he thought really should have come earlier. He placed his hand over the one of his chest and whispered, "I'm not so sure it didn't..."

Merlin snorted. "That was a ridiculous line."

Before Arthur could argue, however, the archdeacon cleared his throat pointedly. "I must return to my congregation. There are many souls who need guidance; I trust I can leave the pair of you alone?"

Merlin stood, grasping Gaius' hand tightly. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Gaius. I know it was a lot to ask for –"

Gaius waved him off, returning the squeeze to his hand. "It is no trouble, my boy. You know you can ask me anything." Arthur felt vaguely intrusive, watching this familial, intimate moment between two who were clearly so very close. "You be careful, Merlin. As much as I love our Lord, I do not wish to see you recalled to His side quite so early."

"I promise." Their hands stayed twined together for a moment longer before Gaius left to attend his flock and Merlin retreated to the seat beside Arthurs' bed. There was a silent moment, where Merlin picked at the frayed ends of his shirt, chewing his lip before he looked up to meet Arthurs' curious eyes.

"You were brave last night, saving the millers' family and defying your father, I know it mustn't have been easy for you."

Arthur shook his head. "No, but the right thing to do is rarely easy, is it?" his smile might just be a touch bitter, but Merlin didn't call him on it. They studied each other for a moment before Merlin sighs.

"Ask."

"What?"

Merlin smiled a little ruefully. "I know you want to know why your father hates me so much. And why it's mutual. So ask. I'll tell you, you deserve to know."

Arthur opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again. If his voice was a little hoarse, Merlin ignored that also. "Why?"

"My mother in particular was a well known wise woman. People often came to her for tinctures and remedies for all sorts and my father was just a carpenter, working to provide a home for his wife. They lived in a small village on the outskirts of Paris, and when Lady Ygraine and Judge Uther wanted a child but could not bear, they came looking for the famous wide woman." Merlin swallowed, eyes fixed on a particular spot of the blanket. Arthur was speechless and his mind blank. He didn't know where this story was going and he didn't want to. But he didn't stop the tale either.

"They acquired my mothers' services, who was known for miracles – for cures for previously incurable maladies and all sorts of others. They asked for her assistance and she agreed if they took heed to the fact that the universe demands balance. For a life to be given, a life must be taken. I am told by Gaius that she and Lady Ygraine and Uther spoke in-depth about the possibilities and the balance, and they still agreed.

"She wanted to bear her husband a son, and she understood the balance more than Uther did. Gaius thinks that she knew already... that she knew the price that would have to be paid and agreed readily." Merlin broke off, rubbing his eyes.

Arthur closed his eyes. "Her life." He didn't see Merlin nod. "My mothers' life for my own." His stomach twisted sickly.

"Yes. My mother had no idea whose life would be taken, magic is an entity all its own and my mother wasn't like me. I was born with magic, she learnt it. Magic is a neutral energy, as long as it gets its due it doesn't care.

"Your father... he didn't take her passing well. My parents fled, and ran long enough to have me but Uther was relentless in his search and they were found and executed for murder." Merlin leant forward, his elbows on his knees. "He only recently discovered my existence, I think he had heard rumours and then at the Festival he saw me and he knew who I was just, just as I knew him. He knows I am the son of the woman he thinks murdered his wife, he can't allow me to live."

There was a heavy pause. "I didn't plan for this, you know" Merlin continued, his voice a mere whisper of grief. "I didn't plan to... I just saw him and I – I acted stupidly. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for everything."

Arthurs' mouth was dry with disbelief. "My mother is dead because of me?"

Merlins' eyes widened. "No, no, of course not! Your mother loved you. She wanted you dearly, just ask Gaius. He went to some of the meetings, as religious guidance. She wanted you so desperately, wanted a child, wanted you to live in the world so much that she was willing o pay any price demanded of her."

Arthur smiled emptily. "How can you stand to be around me? How can I stand to be around you? My father murdered both of yours. Your mother practiced magic that ended my mothers' life."

Merlin flinched at the accusation. "I can because I know you are not your father. You could've dragged me out of the church that day. You are a trained soldier, and Gaius an archdeacon who wholeheartedly supports non-violence. You could've dragged me out of there to face your father and what could I have done really? And I hope you can stand me because my mother... she did all that she could. She... maybe it wasn't the right choice, maybe she should've refused... but I hope you can stand to be around me because... well, I don't know why. I just hope you can."

The silence dragged on after his statement. Merlin shifted uncomfortably. Arthur stared at his hands dumbly. Dust settled in the air, twirling like dancers and the candles in the corner flickered.

Merlin swallowed. "I'm just... going to go. You should rest, gather you strength..." The gypsy stood, his voice was thick as he spoke but steady. And as he turned away, Arthurs' hand reached out, just a single gentle brush of fingers against fingers.

"Stay."

Merlin froze before nodding and slowly easing back into his seat.

"I... it's difficult to process, but I – I don't blame you. I don't, not really." And really, how could he? Merlin wasn't born when Arthurs' mother died. He was conceived after the fact, a child born to a pair running for their life from a vengeful man. Yes, perhaps Merlin's mother shouldn't have agreed, but he knew his father.

"Who told you this story?"

"Gaius."

A trusted source. Gaius was a dear and long time friend of their family. He even married Arthurs' parents, saw then united under God.

He wouldn't lie about such a thing.

God, this had not been what Arthur had been expecting at all.

"Thank you for saving me," he said instead, covering Merlin's hand with his own.

"Any time," Merlin replied just as quietly. "_Every_ time."

Arthur couldn't tell you how it happened. Not really. All he could recall was a jarring in his chest, their faces so close and intense and intimate in a way that made it difficult to breath. Then there was warm pliability against his lips and gentle pressure. Their hands were still clasped together, and Merlin's breath hitched in shock or something else. Arthur pressed harder, parting his lips in curiosity and wanted. Merlin responded eagerly, pushing further and causing Arthur to break away with a gasp of pain as his shoulder flared.

Merlin jolted back with a sheepish look. "Sorry, are you alright? I didn't disturb the wrapping –?"

"Leave it, its fine. Just forgot, I guess."

Merlin laughed breathlessly, cheeks tinted a subtle pink. "Right I –."

"Merlin." Gaius inched the door open, interrupting both men and drawing their attention. "Uther is on his way. Whilst Arthur has claimed sanctuary, I will need to speak to Uther if he so desires." Gaius' eyes flicked to the solider. "He shall not take you from my protection, but I cannot turn him away either."

Merlin nodded his head. "Of course, I wouldn't expect you to. You have your duty ad I have mine. I have things I need to be doing anyway. I'll leave soon. Thank you."

"You never need to thank me, Merlin," Gaius said with a smile, before once again leaving the room.

Merlin pressed his lips to Arthurs' forehead as before straightening up. "I have to go and speak with a few people. They won't be safe, not after being seen with me. I need to get them away, but I'll be back," he whispered. Merlin then reached into Arthurs' shirt, slipping the talisman from beneath the cotton and stroked it. "Remember, if you ever need it, you can always find me."

Merlin squeezed Arthurs' hand once more before slipping out of the room with a single look back. Arthur touched the talisman around his neck, watching the space Merlin had once occupied before he settled back against the pillows.

He had a lot to think about.

_"You're lucky, that arrow almost pierced your heart."  
>"I'm not so sure it didn't." – Phoebus and Esmeralda.<em>

* * *

><p><em>Guys, guys, guys. Les Miserables. Watch it. Seriously. I cannot stop listening to the soundtrack.<em>


	8. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. And the songs used, and occasional quote belong to Disney and whoever wrote the script and lyrics._

_**Notes: **__I AM SO SORRY! Really so very sorry! I just have five more days until Uni finishes and then I will finish these stories and start on the next ones on my list xD_

_Again so sorry. _

_Twitter: ToniBohr  
>Tumblr: toniobscure<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter seven: <strong>

"_But what chance would a poor misshapen child like you have against her heathen treachery? Well, never mind Quasimodo. She will be out of our lives soon enough. I will free you from her evil spell. She will torment you no longer." – Frollo_

In the quiet moment after Merlin's departure, Arthur simply let his mind wander to unimportant places – nothing too strenuous, just blank, plain places. Places where there was no magic, no arrows, no kisses and no Uther Pendragon.

Merlin. Arthur didn't quite know what to do with him. Not past the heated, glimpsing thoughts that flocked and fled through his brain, especially after that kiss – that _invitation_. Even now, a while after Merlin had disappeared, Arthur could feel the petal-soft lips against his own, could still scrape a ghost of Merlin's taste from his bottom lip if he so wished.

Magic. Arthur stared down at his hands. Magic created him and broke him in the same moment, long before his consciousness was even developed. And yet Merlin, Merlin dances and play and smiles with Magic – he makes it come alive in beauty and pleasure, the joy spread in redness across his cheeks as he performs for the peasantry and nobility alike.

Arthur sighed and settled back against his pillow. His chest ached dully from the wound and his mind was racing with all these thoughts and feelings and really, he just wanted to sleep then speak again with Merlin.

He had been resting his eyes for only a few moments, when Gaius popped his head in.

"Arthur," he said without preamble. His expression was wearied and worn, as if he had aged terribly since a few hours previous. "You're father has arrived. I told him a choirboy had been on his way home and had found you. He'll be up soon."

Arthur closed his eyes once more, sighing before opening them and nodding. "Thank you Gaius."

The archdeacon just smiled. "I do not make the habit of lying, but I think the Lord shall forgive me." With another sad sort of smile, Gaius left.

Arthur had little time to ponder this statement, or to process the fact that his father was in the cathedral, before his father was standing in the same room. There was a pregnant silence, it weighed down on Arthur as if it were a stone about his shoulders.

His father stared at him with dark eyes. Never had the man looked so majestic. Never had he looked so terrible. His face, smooth and clean cut was that of the warrior king, his eyes hard as diamonds and judging, mouth thin with derision or placidity, Arthur wasn't sure. The man's broad shoulders and spine was straight and strong – Uther looked every bit the judge he was, and Arthur felt that his own judgement had not yet finished.

Arthur lifted his chin a little in defiance, and his fathers' face seemed to soften and settle. Arthur didn't trust it.

"My son," Uther breathed, head shaking a little as he stepped closer to the cot Arthur was tucked up in. Those ice-eyes glanced down to the wrapping around Arthur's chest and he closed his eyes briefly. Arthur would like to think something like regret flickered across his father's face. "I'm sorry."

Uther approached the bed, and settled on the side, turning his face to gaze upon his son. "I should have recognised the signs."

Arthur frowned. "The signs," he ventured cautiously. He ignored the apology.

Uther nodded, hands clasped in his lap. "I have seen them before, on your mother." Uther's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "The gypsies have an intimate relationship with magic, and wield it like you a sword. It is a weapon, and they use it to twist the mind of innocents.

"I do not blame you, son," Uther assured. "The gypsy has his claws in you. He has poisoned you against me, against your good senses. I do not blame you for your treachery – it is yet another crime upon the head of that gypsy.

"They cannot be trusted, Arthur. They lie and cheat and dance with devils. They _are_ devils."

Arthur stared up at his father, biting back comments at the man's' bitter vitriol. He wanted to snap and spit that Merlin was not a devil, he was not something evil and Arthur was not twisted. Arthur was not under a spell – magic did not trick him.

But he didn't.

"You are weak against gypsy magic," Uther continued, heedless of his sons' struggle. "You have been at the wars, and this is a battle you are unfamiliar with. But no matter," Uther said. Those eyes skim Arthur again.

"I am thankful to see you faring well."

Arthur snorted, and winced at the jolt to his injury. "I would have been better without the arrow to the chest and fall into the river."

Uther looked unapologetic. "I did what I had to," he said. "It shall not need happen again, however, the gypsy will be found soon and you released eternally from his clutches.

Arthur straightened, and Uther observed the movement with a vindicated expression. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, the gypsy will no longer be an issue for you, soon enough. I will protect my family."

"You shot me!"

"A necessary evil," Uther counted, standing and gazing down at his son. "One that will not have to be repeated after tomorrow."

Cold dread creeps down Arthur's spine like a bead of sweat. "What?" his voice was little more than a croak.

The smile on Uthers face was chilling – it was cruel. Arthur had only seen such a smile when his father sentenced murderers, a dark kind of delight, as if his father relished delivering the news. Those eyes glinted and Arthur swallowed, fearing his fathers' next words.

"I have located the Court of Miracles, the nest where these gypsies hide," Uther answered with ill disguised satisfaction. "At dawn I shall attack with a thousand men. The gypsy boy shall not escape and you shall be troubled by him no longer."

"but- Father-?"

"Hush now. Arthur," Uther said in gentle tone he remembered from his childhood. "All will be well. Rest, you need your strength." Uther squeezed his shoulder lightly before taking his leave.

Arthur himself was panicking. The Court of Miracles had been spoken about in the same measure as myths and legends – a story talking of a gypsy sanctuary spread out within the catacombs beneath the city. The tunnels that twist and curve were a maze to all, many a soldier apparently getting lost in a quest to find the heart of the gypsies.

His father had chased it for years.

And now it had been found.

Merlin!"

Arthur chucked the covers away from him, air escaped in a hiss through clenched teeth as he stood, determined to get to Merlin. He was stepping out of the door when Gaius rushed up to him.

"Stupid boy!" He reprimands, trying to shoo Arthur back inside the room. "Just what do you think you are doing?"

"I have to find Merlin!" Arthur argued, struggling weakly against Gaius's clasping hands and surprising strength as he was bundled back to bed. "My father said-"

"Arthur, please –!"

"My father has found the Court of Miracles!"

Gaius stilled. "That is not possible."

"It is," Arthur insisted, ignoring the pain firing through his system. "He said he has found it and at dawn he will attack with a thousand men."

Gaius closed his eyes. "I will send word –"

"That won't be quick enough and you know it. I have to find him, Gaius. I have to find him and warn him, warn _all_ of them."

Gaius raised an eyebrow. "You think you can find him quicker than I could get word to him? Both would take time, the gypsies, and Merlin especially, are so very good at concealing themselves, at not being found. It's in their very nature to be visible only when they want to be." Gaius almost sounded fond.

Arthur deflated, fingers coming to tap absently at the necklace hanging around his chest, underneath his shirt. "I need to find him."

"I know. We will get word to him –"

Arthur was shaking his head. "It won't be quick enough though. I just –" Arthur stopped, hand slipping past he neckline of his own shirt to grasp the woven pendant.

It held it for a few seconds. Then his eyes widened.

"Wait!" Gaius stared at him curiously as Arthur ripped the pendant from about his head and gazed at it. "Merlin gave me his, promised safety if I were to use it." He studied the pendant, and its simple design, holding it by the leather straps so that Gaius, too, could see it.

"Arthur!" The blond looked up from his study at Gaius' breathless tone of amazement. "Do you know what this is? Even I do not possess such an item, friend as I am..."

Gaius looked up and smiled a smile far too mischievous for a man of the cloth. "I really do think finding Merlin should be easier than expected," he explain cryptically, whilst his fingers brushed along the side of the pendent. "_Much_ easier."

"_It's a map! See, here's the cathedral, and the river..." – Quasimodo_


	9. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. And the songs used, and occasional quote belong to Disney and whoever wrote the script and lyrics._

_**Notes: **__SO SORRY! SERIOUSLY SORRY! I THROW MYSELF AT YOUR FEET IN PENANCE! My only excuse is that I finish uni (completely – as in I graduate) in May and have been working to the limit to try and get everything done. Now that the end is nigh, I am allowing myself to get back into writing. I will try to update all my stories. _

_On another note, I am thinking of writing a dark, Hannibal-Inspired fic. With Merlin as a Will Graham-esque character, and Arthur as Hannibal-ish. What do you think?_

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><p><strong>Chapter eight: <strong>

_"Don't interrupt me! You're very clever to have found our little hideaway. Unfortunately for you, you won't live to tell the tale." – Clopin_

The graveyard was eerie. The moon cowered behind wisps of cloud overhead, a sparse silver light that just barely allowed Arthur to pick out the rough tombstones. An owl hooted in a nearby tree, and a whisper of a breeze rustled the leaves and the grass.

The archdeacon was surprisingly spry for his age, easily keeping pace and stealthier than Arthur was comfortable with. It brought back the fears of his youth when he believed that yes, the archdeacon truly did know every little sneaky thing he did because he had eyes everywhere.

"I do have eyes everywhere," Gaius commented quietly, his voice still carrying on the light wind. His amusement was clear. Arthur just pulled a face, glancing down at the woven band he clutched tightly. Gaius was certain they were in a right place, but he himself couldn't shake a sense of wrongness, a taint in the atmosphere that set him on edge, his back tense with vigilance.

"Where are we meant to go?" Arthur asked, eyes scanning the gloom and the many gravestones and freestanding tombs.

"Patience, Arthur," Gaius answered placidly, without the usual tone of chastisement. He too was staring into the black, stepping lightly over to examine the odd tomb, brows frowned in concentration. Arthur stopped, tongue running across the front of his teeth – an unattractive habit, the cook had once said to him. His jaw was gritted, the muscle jumping with the strain.

"Patience may cost lives right now," he reminds with venom, but the anger deflated when Gaius peered at him from around the tomb. Arthur couldn't see clearly, but he was certain that infamous brow was raised in distinct displeasure.

"You are not the only one who risks losing a dear friend, my boy." His head disappeared again before it popped back. "This one."

Arthur marched over, ignoring the pull of his wound and glares at the tomb. "How do you know?"

Gaius tapped a small picture etched into the iron work on the wooden door, barely there but clearly deliberate. It was a miniature etching of the woven band and Arthur smiled grimly. What a place to house the mouth of the Court of Miracles. But then, he supposed, where better to hide than amongst the bodies of the forgotten?

"Are you certain?" The idea of unintentionally breaking into a poor person's final resting place did not sit easy with him. Gaius looked a little affronted.

"I would not have said anything if I was not," he said. Before turning back to the door, he pushed it but of course it did not shift. The gypsies would not be so lax with their own security.

"There is no lock," Arthur observed and then felt instantly idiotic, even without Gaius' look. Of course the gypsies would not rely on something so easily defeated to keep those who wish them harm out. Not when they had access to far greater measures than the ordinary man.

"No." How the archdeacon could make a single syllable word hold the entirety of his condescension Arthur would never know. "This requires a little something extra. Of course, I have only read of such things, and never practice." This was almost spoken to himself and Arthur puzzled a moment, watching carefully as the older gentleman rested his fingers over the mark and closed his eyes.

They waited in silence, and Arthur wanted to say something, but as he opened his mouth to question, the atmosphere grew heavy – like an iron cloak settling around his shoulders. Arthur winced against the pressure to his shoulder, the pain shuttling through his veins in jabs. He felt the wound start to ooze a sluggish thickness and he grimaced.

Then, almost with a pop, the feeling dissipated, leaving Arthur free to breathe and the imprinted ghost of that weight. "What did you do?" His hand curled around his shoulder and his words were almost hissed.

"Applied a little theory," Gaius replied, faint pride lacing his words. "I have read, of course, of Merlin's talents. I am a man of God, but I am also a student of all things." He made a solemn cross, and Arthur caught a murmured prayer, before the older man pushed open the door.

Arthur had been bracing himself for an almost obscenely loud creak, but the door was as silent as the graveyard they found themselves in. Inside was dark, as was to be expected and Arthur stepped in after Gaius.

"How are we going to-?"

Gaius shut the heavy door and the darkness was absolute for all but a second before a torch, before unseen, flickered into life. The flame flickered slightly, splaying their shadows long across the room. And there, in the centre was square cut out of the stone floor, with roughly cut steps leading down into the dark dankness below. Arthur could smell the water and filth of below, but didn't hesitate to grab the now lit torch.

"Ready?"

Gaius glanced up from where he had been staring down into the abyss and smiled. "After you."

* * *

><p>The tunnel was as bleak as a tunnel could be. A permanent chill had settled into the air, and, upon glancing back to his comrade, Arthur saw Gaius suffered a fine tremor. He kept a steady but slow pace. His wound had closed once more, and as long as he didn't jolt his arm or move it sharply, he found the background ache was easy to ignore.<p>

What wasn't was that cloying sense of something that has haunted him since entering the graveyard. It was thick, like a musk perfume, and clinging. His eyes kept sweeping as far forward as the flame would allow but there was nothing he could make out.

A pebble or something skittered from the side and landed with a plop into the ankle high water the pair was wading through. Arthur tensed and Gaius' sharp intake of breath was quickly suppressed. Silence and stillness reigned. Seconds stretched into what seemed like hours but in reality could only have been a minute or so.

Relaxing only minutely, Arthur shifted from his defensive position and took a step forward.

_Mistake. _

He had forgotten, with the threat of Uther and his men, that the gypsy folk themselves may not take kindly to their arrival – his especially – that that his skills would be no match in what was clearly their territory.

Arthur took that step and then he was stumbling, torch dropping and hissing in the water before he was joining it, unable to distinguish the black of the tunnel against the black of his own eyelids before it was far too late.

/\/\

Arthur came around to a racket. So many different voices were catcalling and yelling and cheering. He himself appeared to be bound, his wrists tied in front of him and, alarmingly, a rope around his throat. His blue eyes widen in a slight panic, and his head jerked left and right, to find the archdeacon seated, bound as well, just to the left of him.

Unharmed. That was good. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

"So he awakes." Arthur's gazes flicked towards the previously unnoticed presence, and at the words, quiet falls across what Arthur realises is a wonderful hall. A large square room seemingly segregated into thirds, the farthest third to him, the right top corner, a mountain of blankets and pillows and cushions and rugs. There was padding and silks and cottons, lace and satin and embroidered covers. A few baskets for children were stacked in a corner, woven and delicate as he had seen in use by the many women of the city. Then in the opposite direction, the lower right corner and up to the platform upon which Arthur was displayed upon, was a wealth of books and chests and trunks, there were strange concoctions lined on a book case and odd unrecognisable equipment piled high on heavy oak tables, event he chairs – mahogany and red velvet – were piled with precarious stacked of parchments and leather books.

And then there was the expanse in front of him, a wide space full now of the colourful gypsy people, all with hateful eyes glaring at him, as he stood, bound upon a wooden platform which Arthur knew was a makeshift gallows.

He looked to the man who had spoken. Half of his face was almost pleasant to look at, but the other was a mess of thick, leather scars. Arthur recognised him as the man who sold tinctures and potions in the street.

The man strokes his right cheek, feels the heavily scarred skin, before smirking cruelly. "Courtesy of your father," the gypsy told him quietly, before staring out to the gathered crowd. "Brothers! Sisters! Look what rats we found scurrying in the tunnels, scuttling towards us with their poison and plague."

The gypsies all yelled then in their anger, and Arthur closed his eyes.

"The son of the great Judge Uther Pendragon himself! And Uther's little lamb the Archdeacon." The scars pull as the man grinned. "And what shall we do with them? They know our secret after all! And they have the ear of the judge." There was more racket, a cascade of voices all demanding the same thing, their safety and the silence of Arthur and Gaius – permanent, preferably. Even the children were joining in, most anyway.

Arthur stared out into the scene, searching for that one face – those unforgettable eyes and mouth and cheekbones. He spotted the dark hand man who introduced Merlin onto the stage. He watched the proceedings with a conflicted frown. Arthur spotted the fortune telling girls, faces blank but eyes intense in their scrutiny. The blonde dropped a whisper into the dark haired woman's ear and she nodded, finally turning those eyes away. Beside Arthur, the man worked up the crowd with vitriol against him but Arthur kept searching.

His eyes dropped to the bracelet seller, so young looking and similar to Merlin that they could be brother and sister, clutching the arm of the dark skinned dancer. They both looked terrified for him, eyes large and childlike as the gypsies around them condemned him. He offered a small smile in their direction, one he hoped was at least a little reassuring, and the dancer nodded back before she too was glazing searchingly around the room.

So he had a handful of allies in the room, but even with them, Arthur knew his chances were severely limited. Gaius was a holy man, and no one, not even a gypsy would harm him – but Arthur? He was a soldier and the son of their persecutor.

He was fair game.

"Shall I pull the lever, my dears? End this now before the rat can return to the nest and bring the cats?" The reply was uproarious and Arthur closed his eyes as the man beside him laughed gleefully and there was a crack and an unpleasant wrench to Arthur's neck, a drop that turned his stomach even before he registered that he had landed with a smack onto the floor, his shoulder groaning pityingly and his breathe shoved out of his lungs.

"_Edwin!" _Arthur knew that outraged tone, he had had it directed at him in their first meeting. He opened his eyes, but can only see the ceiling through the hole he had fallen through. He coughed, shifting onto his back when Merlin, face whiter than white peered down at him as if to assess the damage.

"Not dead then?" Merlin grinned.

"Not through lack of trying," Arthur wheezed, struggling to sit. The two girls from before, the dark haired bracelet maker and the dancer, have shifted through the crowd and ducked under the gallows.

"You're alright," the dancer breathed in relief. Her smile is beautiful, and her eyes glitter. If Merlin hadn't thoroughly caught his attention, Arthur thought he could every much see himself falling for this girls' sensual innocence. "Are you hurt?"

"Just my shoulder," Arthur answers, allowing the girls to help him crawl out from under the wooden structure.

"Ah yes," the dark haired girl answered softly, the hand hovering over the bloodied patch of clothing. "The wound you received saving Merlin." She smiles as softly as she spoke. "We are forever in your debt."

"It was nothing."

"To you maybe," the girl countered. "Not to us." They turned then, the three of them, to watch the heated, hissed argument between the scarred man – Edwin? – and Merlin. The former looked mulish and Merlin furious. The dark haired fortune teller had seen to Gaius, ands he and her partner was tended to any wounds the clergyman may have had. He looked calm and relaxed in their presence and Arthur felt no need to worry.

After all, that dark haired one had tested him long ago at the Festival of Fools. He was sure he had passed. The other gypsies were also staring up at the argument, murmuring among themselves like a hive of agitated bees. Arthur caught the sandy-haired man was still in his seat, watching the scene with that same frown as before. As if sensing his gaze, the man looked at Arthur, and glared at him until Arthur looked away. Although, the reason he looked away was, of course, because he had noticed that Merlin had cut the argument off and was jumping down from the gallows.

"Arthur," he smiled, arms outstretched to clasp his shoulders, before remembering the injury and dropping them. "Sorry about that," he whispered. "Didn't get here in time to jam the mechanism and so had to cut the rope. Speaking of which, did none of you girls think to take this off him or untie him?"

Their resulting laughter were like wind chimes, and the dark haired girl was almost sly. "I would we deprive of you of an excuse, Merlin," she answered with wide eyes before the giggling dancer dragged her away.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Freya and Gwen is the dancer," he supplied, touching the rope and watching it slither off from around Arthur's neck, untied. The rope on his wrist did the same. A single touch. Arthur smiled.

"Why are you here?" Merlin questioned softly, a hand on Arthur's cheek. And Arthur jolted back to himself, to why he was here, what was going to happen.

"Oh god, Merlin!" Arthur grabbed the gypsy's arms. "I don't know how he knows but he knows how to get here. He is coming at sunrise with a thousand men!"

Merlin's eyes widen and he spun away from Arthur. "Everyone! Everyone we need to move, the judge knows where we are and he is coming with a thousand men!" There was stillness, during which Merlin climbed the gallows once more. And then –

Chaos. The gypsies were panicking spilling into all parts of the room to grab this and that, to fill bags, or to just to cry and hold their children in instant fear.

Merlin yelled over the top of them. "Take only what you need and can carry, we have until sunrise! I will not lose any of you so get going, you all know the plan!" the gypsies seemed to be a scurrying, scuttling mess of panicking bodies, but Merlin glanced over to the sandy haired fellow, who had stepped forward and nodded and disappeared into the frantic crowd. Arthur couldn't see the other allies in the room as he climbed the gallows again to reach Merlin.

"Thank you," Merlin said, kissing Arthur gently. "Thank you for coming to tell us." They kissed again, chaste but long, the press of lips comfortable and sweet.

"I could have done it without Gaius over there," Arthur said, waving to the archdeacon who was now lending a hand to a family to pack bits and pieces and offering sanctuary to all who had no other place to go.

Cutting through the noise and panic the door slams open and there stand Uther Pendragon in all his terrible glory.

"Surprise."

_"After twenty years of searching, the Court of Miracles is mine at last! Dear Quasimodo, I always knew that someday you would be of use to me." – Frollo_

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><p><em>Erugh. Not sure that this is any good. Sorry about the typos, I'll go over them soon. <em>


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